Can't Keep Secrets
by AmalaDamarr
Summary: Hanna/ ...  drabblefic. Chapters broken up by prompts, no real plot. Hanna's good at keeping secrets, but not the ones that really matter. Which is a good thing.
1. Stress

-Stress

The bathroom was dark. Hanna didn't want to bother with the light switch; it didn't always work anyway, and why waste money on electricity? The rune on the back of his hand was enough for this.

He thanked whatever god would listen that his undead roommate was off walking. He wasn't sure he could explain tonight's disturbance. Sometimes, late at night, he would awaken with whimpering cries at nightmares, startling his friend to his side, and he would pet at his sweat-dampened hair murmuring "Hanna, Hanna, it was just a bad dream, you're all right, I'm here" while Hanna shook and calmed, drifted back to sleep. Tonight, it wasn't a nightmare, not even close.

Hanna hadn't busted a nut in his boxers from a dream since high school. He'd never busted a nut over a man before either. And he'd certainly never even gotten it up over a dead man.

"Shit…"

He wrung out his boxers in the sink, hoping he'd rinsed them thoroughly enough since the dead man insisted on doing laundry for him. Tossing them into the dirty clothes hamper on the floor, he sighed and pressed his forehead to the mirror. He knew sexual frustration well. The first time had been junior high, with a pretty substitute teacher whose button-ups were never buttoned up quite high enough over her impressive bust. There was a slew of classmates after that, one pair of breasts after the other, heating him up in places he never learned about since he'd slept through health classes. It had been a good few years since his last encounter with pure, carnal (and, damn it all, virginal) desire. He wasn't expecting it. Especially not like this.

Hanna was sure it was a gradual thing. He couldn't have just all of a sudden developed such an intense attraction. There were signs, had he paid any attention to them. The unusual heart rate he experienced when his partner touched him for any reason, the heat in his face and neck when those green lips pulled to a smile. The odd and rampant return of seriously painful and throbbing morning wood should have tipped him off, if nothing else. Everything else could be explained away as overreaction due to being alone so long. But the need to jerk off nearly every morning, and that need intensifying should his partner speak to him before he could rush to the bathroom…that really should have been obvious.

The more he thought about it, he realized it was a simple case of denial. Being sexually attracted to a male was unfamiliar and slightly disturbing, but he'd probably have gotten over that pretty easily if the male in question hadn't been a reanimated corpse. He's a fucking zombie, Hanna told himself. _He_ is a _zombie_, and you want to bang him? How would that even _work_?

It scared him how quickly his brain found ways of making it work.

Another sigh, and he thunked his head into the mirror a few times before heading back into his room. The clock said 4:36. He wondered what time his partner would come home. He hoped it would be soon, it was easier to stop thinking about him this way while he was around. He could think of him as a friend, as the nice guy who cooked him breakfast, as the steadfast companion he could always trust to be there, to help out, to smile at him when anyone else would have just walked away.

He stopped mid-step onto his mattress. His brow furrowed and he stared hard at nothing while his brain worked without his consent once more.

Maybe this conflagration of desire was something more. Maybe his sexual tension was a result of different feelings. Feelings he never had for any of the pretty girls he chased in school, at bars, made eyes at on the subway. He was always the one making the move, trying to make the best impression. (Always failing though…he supposed he came on too strong, but that was another matter.) This time, someone was doing things for _him_. Someone was smiling at him, doing him favors, willingly following along and participating in things he did, things he said. Someone was actively part of his life, of their own volition.

Hanna was floored by this rush of realizations and what they implied. He collapsed into bed and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Nausea crept over him as he fretted and worried over questions he could never find the answers to himself. By the time the clock read 5:02, he was exhausted, but he had come to three conclusions:

1) I'm most likely in love with my partner.

2) He cares about me, but hell if I know why.

3) This is really not something to freak out over, especially not when I should be sleeping, jeez.

So he let himself succumb to his dragging eyelids, fast asleep by 5:37, when the zombie quietly reentered their apartment with a bag full of fresh bagels and cream cheese.

* * *

* * *

So. Uh. First fic here, and it's going to be a long, pointless ordeal about Hanna and {...}. It's mostly just Hanna freaking out and working through his hormones or whatever, pfft. I promised I'd write it to prompts given, so every "chapter" is a new prompt. Haha, this is so dumb, but I actually had a lot of fun writing it. And PLEASE don't be shy about telling me what's good or what sucks through this thing. I'm just practicing writing here. Comments and even flames are A-Ok, bros.


	2. Pink

-Pink

Hanna awoke to gentle clicking noises and a familiar hum. He blinked at the ceiling, noticing his glasses weren't on his face. He recalled falling asleep with them on again, like an idiot, but his partner must have removed them when he came back home. He reached out for them, found them on the floor beside his mattress.

The zombie was at the kitchen table, typing away on Hanna's laptop. He'd taken to answering emails for Hanna lately, to help lighten his workload between cases and expenses and K-Mart's odd shifts. He felt a fuzzy warmth in his chest while he watched the glow from his partner's eyes diffusing into the glow from the monitor.

Those orange eyes blinked suddenly, then turned to Hanna.

"You're awake," he said, surprise melting into a smile. "Good morning."

Hanna returned the smile, sleepy and lopsided. "Mornin', Hallys."

"Out of bed Hanna, I have bagels for breakfast."

He stood and moved to the refrigerator as Hanna clumsily rose from his blankets with an incoherent but appreciative sound.

"Do you want strawberry cream cheese or regular?"

"Wha-you got the strawberry kind? Oh man, that's so awesome!"

Hallys chuckled and pulled out a pink and white container. "I figured you'd like that."

He set the tub on the counter, reaching for the bag of bagels on the table. He stopped, eyes widening and trailing down Hanna's body before staring pointedly and confusedly at his face.

The small man quirked his head. "What's wrong, Hallys?"

"Hanna…where are your clothes?"

Looking down at himself, Hanna saw his whole body flush with embarrassment. Had he really forgotten to grab a new pair of shorts?

"Uh…" he said, swallowing thickly. He darted to his dresser and grabbed a shirt and boxers before locking himself in the bathroom, beating his forehead once again on the mirror once he'd clothed himself.


	3. Starvation

-Starvation

Beyond the shame and the sickness, Hanna had to admit he loved the sound of slick flesh on flesh. Hearing it made the heat in his body flare up higher, made him sweat and bite his lip. Hanna loved that hot, sweaty, frantic part of it when the thoughts disappeared and there was nothing but skin and nerves and that pulse in his nether parts that reverberated in his skull. He loved the very end of it, all that white blankness that was pure and sweet and still so warm.

The only problem was that he had to come back, had to leave that beautiful, delicious cloud of nothingness and float back down to his tiny, dirty bathroom, surrounded by dingy tiles and sticky, suffocating guilt.

A week ago, he accepted that he was just plain in love with his zombie sidekick after being carried bridal-style to Worth's yet again, his leg dripping blood thanks to a man-eating plant. He figured that would make it easier. Things are always easier when you accept the truth and stop lying to yourself, right? Hanna figured love was a different thing altogether. It didn't follow the usual rules of life. And he figured adding sex to it only made it more unmanageable. All he could do when he happened to be home alone was think of the zombie, wish he could cuddle up close or whisper sweet things to him. Then he'd wish he could kiss that rough stubble, or the stitches on his fingers, or even - someday, please, god, why _can't_ I? - those thin, smooth lips. His thoughts would run shamelessly after that, from slipping those fingers into his mouth to seeing himself on his back, taken long and thorough, like he imagined the man would do if he could, if he would. He'd be reduced to fisting his cock again, shoving as many fingers inside himself as he could take. He hadn't even known he enjoyed anal until he tried it one night with a spatula handle, horny and curious. He'd thrown that spatula away, embarrassed at himself; the zombie had used it the next morning for pancakes and Hanna had gone red to the tips of his ears. Who jerked off with kitchen equipment, seriously?

And there came the guilt. It felt wrong to be doing things like that. He supposed he felt guilty for the things he imagined, not the feelings he had; his desperate fantasies were often so dirty and, sometimes, downright out of character for the zombie that he ended up disgusted with himself. He could never realistically see his companion giving it to him rough and calling him sick names, couldn't see him being willing to choke him or pull his hair hard enough to make him cry. It got him off, in his head, but Hanna knew those things wouldn't happen, shouldn't happen. Even if it was a legitimate kink of his, he wasn't sure he could make the zombie go along with it. Hell, he was pretty sure he could never get the man in bed with him anyway. And he was also certain, from a logical point of view, that he'd have to be very creative with magic for it to even be physically possible.

He'd already figured out how, though. How to pump him full of magic in lieu of blood. How to sensitize his flesh and make him sweat without glands. He'd figured it all out in an obsessive daze, pouring over books and scrolls and the internet.

"I need to stop," Hanna whispered to himself, sniffling. He slowly wiped the drying semen from his hands and stomach, biting back tears full of shame and frustration. "Fuck, I have got to stop this."

He didn't mind being in love, hopeless as it was. He just didn't like feeling like a perverted, sex-starved freak.


	4. SciFi

-Sci-Fi

Hanna decided to try an experiment. He felt slightly bad about it, since he'd be lying, but deceit had its place sometimes. Operation Get-The-Zombie-In-Bed was go.

He settled into the sheets, watching his partner settle against the wall with his book; an old science fiction anthology Hanna dug out of his closet. It had been raining the past few days; he didn't want the zombie to go out to the library in that, it was too far. The dead man had smiled and thanked him, with his eyes expressing true gratefulness. Hanna's heart had skipped a few beats before soaring through his skullcap, leaving him grinning over it for the rest of the day.

"How do you like it so far, Isaac? I haven't read it for so long, I kinda forget what it's like."

"It's very interesting, actually. I think I'll pick up some of these authors next time I can get to the library."

Hanna couldn't help grinning again. It was a little victory for him, since he rarely felt useful to the zombie. "That's great! So hey, which story are you on right now? You look over halfway through already. How can you read so fast?"

"Practice," Isaac said with a grin. "This one is called Story of Your Life, by Ted Chiang."

Hanna's brain clicked excitedly. "Is that the one with the Heptapods? Oh man, that was one of my favorites!"

"Yes, and it's fascinating. It really makes you think."

"You know, I tried to make up my own Heptapod writing, back in high school," Hanna said with a wry chuckle. "I didn't get very far. Had to make up a whole new language to do it, you know? But it was kinda fun anyway, while it lasted."

Isaac tilted his head thoughtfully. "Did you save what you had?"

Hanna thought for a moment. "I…_might_ have?" He glanced at his closet, squinting as though he could see through the door. "If I did, it'd be in a box somewhere. There's a bunch of school notes I saved, I bet they'd be in there."

"We should get them out one day. Maybe we can work on it together."

Hanna stared down at his sheets, face burning. He gave a light chuckle and swallowed a peculiar lump in his throat. "You'd really wanna do that with me?"

The zombie shrugged, his brows tilted playfully. "I don't see why not. Sounds like it would be fun."

"Yeah," Hanna breathed. "Yeah, it would. But I oughta hit the hay now, huh? G'night, Ted!"

"Good night, Hanna."

The redhead flopped onto the mattress after flicking off the light. He thought for a minute that he should save his experiment for another night. His heart was pounding at the thought of something so dorky and fun as imaginary languages with the zombie. It was something so geek-romantic that he had to fight down the urge to swoon about it long enough to think. A few minutes later, he decided to just go ahead with his plan. He'd probably chicken out if he waited too long.

The plan was simple. He'd have a nightmare, wake up distressed as usual, and use the moment to talk the zombie into getting in bed with him. Nothing scandalous, no perversion. At least not this time. Just…feeling him close and comforting. Just having him there beside him. He just wanted to see if he could get that much. It was raining, so there would be no late-night walks. He'd scribed a tiny rune on his wrist to ensure he had some form of nightmare; he was a terrible actor, and he knew it.

So, all there was left was to fall asleep.

* * *

Story of Your Life by Ted Chiang is REAL and FASCINATING, and for some reason I had to throw it in there when the Sci-Fi prompt came up. Heptapod writing is, just so everyone knows, nonexistant, but sounds terribly complicated. I tried to make one up once. You need one hell of a brain for that.


	5. Mistakes

-Mistakes

This wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to go this far. It was a simple drive, why had everything gone so wrong?

Hanna supposed it was his fault. He kept pestering them, after all, and they got distracted.

"Mom, are we there yet?"

"Dad, I have to go potty!"

"Hey look, _cows_! Did you guys see the cows? Let's park there, I wanna pet them!"

It could only be his fault. Dad was driving. He was tired, and Hanna was bugging him about cows. Dad turned around.

"Hanna, _please_, we're going straight to the hotel, so just be patient-"

And mom screamed and Hanna saw the man in the middle of the road. Just standing there. Dad hit him. The car screeched and mom and dad got out, panicked, telling Hanna to stay in his seat. Hanna stayed. He knew better. This was his fault anyway.

They didn't come back into the car; the man on the ground grabbed them by the ankles. He bit mom's leg, and Hanna watched through the rear window, screaming, while dad tried to smack the man away. Hanna pounded the window, and the car began to move. It moved backward, toward mom and dad and the man eating mom's leg. Hanna turned around and saw another man in the driver's seat. A man that looked like himself, older, paler, with eyes glowing crazy and hair more disheveled than mom ever let it get. Hanna screamed at him to stop, but it was too late. The car backed up, fast, flattened mom and dad, and the man eating mom's leg was still gnawing with his flattened jaw as the car kept going.

Hanna kept screaming. He jumped up and batted his small fists against the arm of the man that looked too much like him, the older him, the one he'd thought would be a scientist who brought dinosaurs back to life. He stopped beating at him when those scary blue eyes met his, and those sad, scary blue eyes began to bleed. Hanna saw his chest bleeding too, and strange, claw-like things scraping through him from the inside, tearing through him in a zigzag pattern and gripping the wheel. Hanna thought his voice would give out if he screamed any more.

The clawed hands turned the wheel sharply to the left and pushed the car into drive, the older Hanna's hands going limp at his sides. The car barreled into the nearby city - a city that smelled like sulfur and looked like a war zone - and crashed into a broken-off section of an apartment. Older Hanna went flying through the windshield, spattered on the wall, falling to a broken heap. Hanna grabbed the driver's seat before he could follow, slumping in the litter of broken glass. The clawed hands inside older Hanna writhed and pulled themselves out, followed by a gurgling green head and torso, flecked with blood and tissue. Hanna watched, tears streaming down his face, too terrified to scream anymore, as glowing orange eyes came to rest on older Hanna's face. The green man dove down and sunk his teeth into older Hanna's head with a sickening crunch, and Hanna sat there, wondering what was happening, _why_ was this happening, why didn't mom and dad come help him? It was his fault. Everything was his fault.

He didn't realize the green man had finished eating until he pulled himself completely out of older Hanna and was coming toward him, climbing through the windshield to get to him, bits of glass cutting into the dead flesh as his blood smeared face came close to his own, teeth parted, eyes glowing angry red-orange.

Why had everything gone so _wrong_?


	6. Panic

-Panic

This wasn't right. It was too much. Hands were shaking him, and he felt himself convulsing. He heard distant words, deep, frightened sounding words, but couldn't understand them, couldn't string them together. He felt his neck snap to the side, fear and rage and confusion roiling inside him, and he bit down into something, something cool and pliant. He heard himself keening, crying, moaning, felt tears stinging his face and snot dribbling from his nose. _I don't want to be eaten_, his brain screamed, and another part of his brain replied with _You aren't, you idiot, what the hell is wrong with you?_

His teeth sunk deeper into whatever he'd bitten. He cried into it, spittle congealing around it. His body gave one more painful spasm before his mind seemed to lurch forward, dizzying his already impaired senses. His teeth released the thing as his head hit something soft. He heard more panicked words, more voices, even farther away and more unintelligible, as he slipped into unconsciousness, thinking only that there was drool sliding down his chin, gross, that needs to be wiped off.


	7. Hold My Hand

-Hold My Hand

Eyelids twitched, unwilling to open. They felt sealed shut. Hanna didn't care. He didn't want to open them. He wanted to go back to sleep. He was so warm.

There was a weight on his hand. Curled around his hand. It changed his mind about sleep. Curious, he cracked open his eyes, slowly, so much effort for so simple a thing. He turned them down, to his hand, and saw green and stitches. His partner was there, sitting cross-legged next to the mattress, chin to his chest, hands curled tightly around his pink fingers.

"Ballast…?" His voice creaked, low and hoarse.

The zombie's head shot up, and Hanna was shocked by the sheer force of emotion in those headlight eyes. They were wild with worry and fear and so many things Hanna couldn't understand. There were even creases in his brow, around his eyes. Hanna had never seen so much in his face before.

"Hanna…my god, Hanna, are you all right? You…you scared me to _death_…" He got to his knees and took Hanna's face in his hands, searching for something. His brows knitted and he bit his lip, thumbs running over pale cheeks. "Hanna…"

"What…what happened? What's wrong?" Hanna whispered, still mesmerized by his partner's new and numerous expressions. Mesmerized, but distressed. All his emotions seemed profoundly negative, and somehow, it was his fault.

_His fault._

"Oh shit…"

"A dream, Hanna. I think it was a dream. It was never that bad before. You looked like you were dying. I didn't know what to do, you just kept screaming and then you…"

He trailed off, looking unsure. He pulled away, hiding one of his arms behind him.

"I what?"

"You…it doesn't matter. You didn't mean to. It's all right now."

"What did I do?"

Ballast sighed and hesitated, but brought his hidden arm up to look at it. The flesh was mangled and torn, some of it looking like it wanted to just fall right off. "You bit me."

Hanna stared, horrified. "Bit you…? I _bit_ you? Holy shit, that's not a _bite_, that's a fucking shredding!" He struggled to sit up, ignoring Ballast's attempts to keep him lying down. "I…what the hell? Why didn't you _stop_ me? Look at that, doesn't it hurt?"

Ballast shook his head. "I couldn't feel it much when you did it. I was more worried about you. I can't feel it at all, now. It's not important."

"Yes it is…" the small man murmured. "It is important. My god, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize…I mean, I didn't think it would turn out this way. Shit, I just wanted…but it went totally wrong. I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry."

He hid his face in his hands, guilt and exhaustion crashing over him like a condemned building. It was that rune, he should have known better than to use it. He overestimated himself, and look where that left him. Biting the flesh off the arm of the man he'd just wanted to hold him. That kind of failure stung more than anything because it hurt someone else more than it hurt Hanna.

There was movement beside him, and before he knew it, Ballast was wrapping himself around Hanna, rigid, hollow chest pressed to his back and arms holding him there almost too tight. A white tuft of hair brushed his cheek as Ballast buried his face in the crook of Hanna's neck.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all. I'm just glad you're all right."

Hanna whimpered, wanting to pull away because he didn't deserve it, wanting to stay forever because it was the most amazing feeling. His throat burned to tell the truth, but his heart couldn't bear it. And it may have been just the rune, but he knew that nightmare. He'd had it before, ages ago, in a room with grey walls and plastic sheets. It was the rune that brought it out now, but it had still been there all along, hiding under his skin, tainting everything he said or did or experienced…maybe he deserved to be held for that. Maybe his partner was right. Maybe he really didn't have anything to be sorry for. At least not tonight.

"I'll sew your arm up," he offered, voice still soft and hoarse.

"Tomorrow," Ballast replied, and held him tighter.

Hanna trembled and asked, "Stay with me?"

"You'd have to bite my arms all the way off to get away."

A choked laugh later, Hanna found himself eased down onto his pillow, blankets pulled to his chin, and an unfamiliar, wonderful pressure moulded to his back, clamped to him by unyielding arms. One of the zombie's hands tangled in his, reassuring and seeking reassurance all at once.

It wasn't the way he'd planned it, but all things considered, his experiment was a success.


	8. Tension

-Tension

He knew his housemate was burning to ask.

Toast crumbs and a grease spot where his eggs had been stared back at him as he listened to the zombie wash a frying pan. It was a strangely quiet morning. Hanna had awoken to a green hand still in his; the zombie slowly untangled himself as soon as he knew the redhead was awake, almost as though he felt guilty about being there.

"Let me fix your arm now," Hanna mumbled sleepily. "Get me the thread and needle?"

The tall man hesitated only a moment before gathering the things from the top of Hanna's dresser. Hanna sat up, fumbled for his glasses, accepted the thread and needle. The stitching was slightly difficult; the wound was gnashed in a brutal manner that made Hanna want to cry.

He almost did, halfway through. Zombie used his good arm to reach up and brush his cheek with a thumb. His orange eyes glowed with pained compassion.

"Please don't cry. It's not your fault."

"I'm still sorry. Please…if something like this ever happens again, stop me."

The zombie didn't say anything. He only continued to stroke Hanna's cheek for a moment before the stitching resumed. It's funny, Hanna had thought bitterly. He's the zombie, and _I'm_ the one worried about biting _him_.

Not a word was spoken as he'd set about breakfast while Hanna put the sewing materials away and changed his clothes. Now, with his empty plate and thunderous heartbeat, the small investigator decided it was time to break up this awkwardness.

"Um…thanks for breakfast…" he began lamely.

He saw his partner still, then slump, as if all the strength in his body had been sucked from him. He turned to offer a weary smile.

"It's nothing."

Hanna rubbed the back of his neck as he watched the clash of emotion in the zombie's eyes. It was clear, the struggle that raged in him: Is Hanna okay? Is it all right for me to ask? I should just go on like nothing happened. If he wants to talk, he can. Why isn't he _saying_ anything? What can I _do_?

"You don't have to do anything, Arlen," Hanna said, responding to his on speculation. "I'm all right. Please don't worry."

Arlen's shoulders tightened. He closed his eyes and exhaled unnecessarily though his nose.

"I thought…Hanna, I honestly thought you were going to die. Neighbors came by to ask about the noise, and your landlady. I told them you were just having a panic attack from some medication. They wanted to call the police…"

Hanna's gut fell. The thought of Arlen panicking - making excuses to people while he desperately tried to find out what was really wrong, and with his damn arm _mutilated_ the way it was - was more painful than the nightmare itself.

He heard the zombie sigh. "I don't want to pry. Whatever that was, it hurt you, and it's really none of my business, but…What happened? That…wasn't a normal dream, was it?"

"No," Hanna admitted in a small voice. "It was…haha, I guess you can call it _The Nightmare_. 'Cause y'know, it's pretty much all the bad things in my life and all the things that scare the shit out of me rolled into one. And…and it's my own stupid fault I had it. I was messing around with some runes I shouldn't have."

It was a half-truth, but Hanna couldn't bear to tell him the rest. What would he think of all this stress and worry stemming from a puerile scheme to get him into bed?

Arlen gazed at him, one part concern, another part curious. "What runes? What for?"

"Some stupid thing, don't worry about it."

"I _am_ worried about it."

Arlen was suddenly standing right in front of him, his newly stitched arm on the back of Hanna's chair as he looked down on the smaller man with the kind of anger a mother shows her reckless child before giving him a bandaid.

"I'm _very_ worried about it," he continued, and there was a hard tenseness to his voice. Stern. Tinged with desperation. "After that kind of episode, how could I not be? Whatever runes you were dealing with, whatever it was for, I think it has to stop."

Hanna swallowed. His eyes slid dejectedly to the floor, tears prickling them. Yeah, it had to stop. All of it. Before something worse happened. Before he lost Arlen altogether. He bit it all back as best he could.

"H-hey, Xerxes, it's cool! It's done now, I won't mess with them anymore. I promise!"

His watery smile wasn't convincing. Xerxes just stared at him, searching. He ducked his thin face in exasperation.

"I know you have secrets, Hanna. I want to respect that. I just wish it didn't mean you had to lie to me."

He turned away quickly, snatching up Hanna's plate and moving back to the sink. The disappointment in his voice was scathing. It left Hanna numb and blank for a long time. It must have been really long, because the next thing he knew, there was a hesitant green hand on his shoulder.

"You're going to be late for work."

"I'm not going to work today."

Xerxes leaned down next to him, expression back to the patient, quiet concern Hanna was used to. That was the end of his pretenses, and Xerxes gathered him up to hold him while he cried, wiping away the tears and petting his hair while he whispered reassurances Hanna couldn't hear.


	9. PostSecrets

-Post Secrets

"i'm sorry"

"when i was a kid, i saw my dad beat up a guy for trying to hurt my mom. i always held my mom's hand tight when we went out, so i could protect her like dad did"

"i couldn't protect either of them. my parents died because of me, and i'm sorry i can't tell you why"

"i was institutionalized after my parents were killed"

"i always wished it were me instead"

"i was homeless for a while, and i was afraid of everything, but children were afraid of me, so i stayed away from parks, even though i always had an urge to play on the swings"

"i wrecked my first car, and two other people in the accident died"

"i feel useless and weak without my magic"

"i've never really been useful to anyone"

"sometimes i'm afraid you'll become like the zombies on tv"

"i don't think i could shoot you if you did. i might just let you eat me"

"i'm sorry"

"i worry you'll leave me like everyone else has in the past"

"i'm such a failure, i can never do anything right and i do too many stupid things and i hurt people. i don't mean to. i'm sorry"

"i gave myself that nightmare because i wanted you to sleep in my bed with me. i didn't know it would go so wrong"

"i think about you so much. i want to kiss you so badly"

"that night you came home and heard me groaning in the bathroom wasn't from constipation or whatever. i was jerking off thinking about you"

"i'm in love with you"

"i'm sorry"

"i'm sorry"

Hanna read about "Post Secrets" online, a long time ago. He figured he'd give it a shot. He didn't want to tell his partner the truths he knew he ought to; this way, though, he could at least let it out. It wasn't the same as telling the truth, but it helped. He felt better. But it was still three days before he presented the twenty cranes to the zombie with a nervous smile, never mentioning the secrets hidden in the folds.

There were discreet numbers on the wings. He thought maybe, someday, the zombie would figure it out and open them, but he hoped it wasn't any time soon.

* * *

This prompt. It threw me for a while. Obligatory cranes.


	10. Scales

-Scales

"Man, Pete, this is the coolest thing _ever_!"

Pete was looking at the creature in the sewer pipe rather skeptically. "How so?"

Hanna gave him a strange look. "Dude, it's a _dragon_. A real honest-to-goodness dragon! You never see shit like this around here! Or…anywhere really, unless you live in places humans consider uninhabitable. It's so cool! I've never been this close to one!"

"I see," the zombie said, smiling fondly. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Pfft, of course!" Hanna tittered back nonchalantly. He suppressed a chuckle at the exaggeratedly grave expression on his partner's face.

He started towards it, with enough sense to go slowly at least. He knew Pete was uncomfortable about the situation, but they couldn't very well leave the thing in the sewer. That was all kinds of wrong, and frankly, Hanna was too excited to care that the scaly creature could snap his hand right off.

It was a small dragon, probably still just a pup. Its red eyes glinted warningly at Hanna, puffing itself up, sewer water dripping from the copper scales. Hanna took in the spaded tail and crested head, the coloring and paws. Its wings were wrapped protectively around its body. He couldn't quite remember what kind of dragon this was, so he hesitated to breach the gap completely. He didn't know how to deal with this one.

"Hey there, little guy. I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna get you out of here. Smells bad and stuff, you know? You don't wanna stay here, right?"

Too close. The dragon snapped at him, smoke puffing from its nostrils. Hanna stepped back, hands up placatingly, talking to it. He kept his voice as soothing as he could, soft and lulling. Most dragons didn't understand human speech, but they understood tone of voice. They could sense intent, and Hanna wanted to make his perfectly clear: This human is no one to be feared. I'm not a danger to you. I want to help.

The dragon shivered, twitched its wings and ducked its head. he was still in a defensive posture.

"This could take a while," he whispered to his partner. "We may as well get comfortable."

It took half an hour of cooing reassurances to get the dragon to drop his posture, but Hanna could still move no closer to him. He knew it was something inside him that frightened the little animal. Many times in the past, he'd had trouble with animals because of the magic in him, because of the dark cloud that haunted him. He knew they would have liked him better if it weren't for the supernatural bits that held him together at the same time as they tore him apart, so he tried to show them. He tried to be patient and show them that all the aura they felt wasn't him. All the buzzing and crackling in his veins didn't make up who he was, what he was aiming for. That his excitement and proximity were to help and possibly indulge in the childish desire to hold and pet and cuddle. He was rarely successful, but he felt progress with this one. Dragons were supernatural as well, and very intelligent to boot, so there was hope of getting it out safely without bringing harm to himself.

He knew his partner wasn't impatient about it. A glance back revealed a kind of peace in his glowing eyes. Hanna assumed he was just grateful that he was taking it slow this time. They'd had talks about it. Hanna wanted to stifle his urge to jump right in because of that, because of the worry that had been expressed. Still, he knew that if Pete weren't there, he'd have dove in like usual and come out bleeding profusely. He wasn't sure if he was thankful of that or annoyed by the slowing of his pace.

"Man, I just wish you could understand me," he was saying, still in that story-time voice. "Then we could get you out and you could get home. I don't know where your home is though, are you one of those dragons that lives in the mountains? I'd think so because of your color, but I'm not a dragon expert, you know? I wonder if your parents are looking for you. I bet they are. Wouldn't that be cool if they busted in here to rescue you? Well, cool for you, 'cause you know, they'd probably eat me or something, but maybe they won't 'cause I taste bad. Would I taste bad to a dragon though? You guys are supposed to be impervious to magic."

Hanna rambled on to the dragon, sometimes pulling his partner into the conversation so it wouldn't be too boring for the dead man. Every few minutes, the dragon seemed to loosen up more, quirking its head to inflections and stifled giggles. Hanna had bite back a whoop of triumph when the little copper feet began inching out of the pipe, closer to him and his partner.

"Pete, I think he's trusting us," he whispered excitedly. "Look, _look_! His little feet are on the edge of the pipe, see? Gosh he's cute, I hope he lets me hold him."

He bounced on the balls of his feet a bit, and the dragon's head followed suit. Hanna giggled a bit, then giggled even more at the grin Pete flashed him.

"So it looks like you're not so scared anymore, huh? That's awesome. I really hope you let me touch you at least, I've never felt dragon scales before. I probably should have brought food. What was I thinking? You should _always_ bring food, it's like, a peace offering or something. Well, I've got nothing to offer you but a way out…I hope that's enough."

After being in the sewer for an hour and a half - which was slowly becoming more and more strenuous for Hanna, who just wanted to run around in circles and roll in some grass by that point - the dragon finally jumped out of the pipe and crept closer. Hanna held his breath as the dragon took hesitant steps toward him. It stopped a foot away, looking up apprehensively. Hanna took the hint, motioned for Pete to follow suit as he crouched down. He was a small guy, but his height was threatening to a baby dragon. Once he'd sat on the ground, grimacing at the dirty water seeping into his jeans, the dragon waddled up to him and nosed his left knee. His breath caught in his throat. The dragon nosed him again, made a strange noise, and Hanna, heart pounding, lifted his hand warily.

The creature didn't flinch when his fingers brushed over the crest on its head. He traced his fingertips over the scales, gently. They were smooth as glass, but warm. It shivered under his touch, but didn't move away. Hanna watched in awe, realizing that the dragon's scales could bristle like a cat's fur. A huge grin split his face and he beamed at his partner while stroking the dragon's head.

"This is so surreal, man. D'you wanna try petting it too? I think it'll let you."

Pete shook his head, looking a bit entranced as well. "We'd better not push things. You're the one it came to."

It took a while to get the thing comfortable enough to be carried, but it had settled down quite nicely in Hanna's arms by the time they reached the foothills outside of town.

"See his claws, Robinton? They're good for climbing," Hanna was saying, still gleeful about getting to hold a dragon. "The tail's kinda flat and has some barbs on it. I figure with all that, he'd be suited for mountain life. He's got this coppery color, I bet that helps him blend in. The bottoms of his feet are like freakin' leather too, man, that's good for rocky territory."

"So where are we going to leave him?"

Hanna sighed. "I'd want to take him up to the mountains, you know, but we kinda can't do that without a car. If we leave him out here, he should be able to make it back home. People don't come out this far, it's kind of a no-man's land, so he'll be relatively safe. And dragons can last a while without food, so he won't starve. Still…I wish there were a better way."

The dragon heaved a breath in Hanna's arms, almost as though it were agreeing. Its fulvous eyes rested on the hilly terrain before them. Its head shot up quickly as it became restless in Hanna's hold.

"Whoa, buddy! I guess this is the right place, huh?"

The dragon responded by leaping out of his hands to roll delightedly in the dirt. It cawed and pranced a little before running back to rub against Hanna's leg.

"_Gnee_! Oh my god, look how cute! We made him happy, Robinton!"

Robinton chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'll admit, that is pretty cute."

"_God_, I want to take him home. Haha, wouldn't that be awesome! But he'd grow up and get _way_ too big anyway, and Mrs. Blaney would _kill_ me."

He stooped down to pet the dragon some more, laughing out loud when it rolled onto its back to have its belly scratched. Robinton joined in this time, tentatively, and the dragon hardly seemed to mind the green fingers scratching gently behind its ears.

When the time came to say goodbye, Hanna bit his lip to keep from pouting. The dragon looked back once, cawed, and then scampered off into the hills.

"You're welcome," Hanna breathed, feeling pride and joy welling up in his chest. He felt good, better than he'd ever felt after a case. And better still when Robinton sidled up next to him to put an arm around his shoulders.

"It's getting late. We should go to that little diner by the bowling alley for dinner tonight. I think you earned a nice night out after this."

Hanna stared up at him dreamily, so full of warm fluff he could scarcely breathe. "Aw, Rob, that's sweet, but we can't afford it. It's not like we got paid for that one."

The zombie shook his head, grinning, pulling Hanna with him back towards town. "I have a little cash this time, don't worry."

"_You_ have money?" Hanna asked incredulously. "How? When?"

"A few nights ago. I found a lost dog and brought him home. They gave me twenty-five dollars because I wouldn't take the full amount. They offered way too much, and didn't look very well-off to begin with."

"How much did they want to give you?"

"Fifty."

Hanna's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow…"

The zombie hmm'ed in response.

"You know, you're a really awesome guy, Robinton."

At the diner, Hanna ordered a cheeseburger for himself and got his partner a small dish of fruit. He couldn't eat it, but Hanna knew he could taste still; he'd taken to stealing lemon wedges from Hanna's water when they went out, putting a little sugar on them and sucking the juice. Since then, Hanna had continued to get him fruit, watching his lips with secret pleasure.

And on the way home, the zombie discreetly deposited something smooth into Hanna's hand, glowing eyes gazing steadily ahead with a small tilt to his mouth. Hanna looked down to discover a tiny, gleaming copper dragon scale. He thought that if he hadn't been in love with his partner before, he sure as hell was now.

* * *

Yay, a happy chapterrrr. Pff, "scales". I had no idea what to do with that prompt until I saw my How to Train Your Dragon DVD.


	11. Unawares

-Unawares

He pushed through the door after work, in good spirits for once, his arms full of bakery goodies his manager let him take home because of surplus. He hummed as he shut the door with his rear, smiling and rubbing his face against the warm, sweet-smelling bag.

"Lokni, you home? Check out all this food, man! There's like, danishes or some shit in here! It's _awesome_!"

He set the bag on the table, brow furrowing when no reply came.

"Lokni?"

The apartment was empty. Hanna pulled at his bottom lip in thought as he scanned the room. His eyes fell on a note taped to the door.

_"Hanna_

_Went to the library_

_Sorry for the short notice, but an email came in about a book I'd been waiting for_

_I'll be home with dinner"_

Hanna chuckled as he turned the note over in his hands. "I love how he gets excited over books."

He sat at the table to inventory his treats, immediately grabbing a raspberry danish to munch on. He didn't notice the stash of paper cranes lining the shelf above his dresser was was missing a few. Or twenty.

* * *

I will be updating this in a few days or so. It's hard to decide where to go exactly, and we've had a lot of busy days at work thanks to UFC and football, so I've just been coming home to pass out instead of writing. XD Just as a warning though, upcoming chapters will live up to the M rating, and here's hoping I can write it properly! And thanks for the encouragement guys, all the reviews I've had are really positive and I really appreciate the support. It's awesome, man, so awesome. 3


	12. City Streets

-City Streets

Around dinnertime, Hanna started to worry. _I'll be back with dinner_, the note said, and his partner still wasn't back.

Hanna glanced uselessly out the tiny window, knowing he wouldn't see the man even if he were right outside. What he saw instead struck a jolt of panic through his spine, straight down to his toes. It was raining again. Why hadn't he heard it before? It was raining, and the zombie was still out there.

"Alatheus…"

He dropped the notebook he was holding, barely stopping to grab an umbrella before bolting out the door. He didn't bother opening the umbrella as he ran, slipping i puddles and skidding around corners. He took every shortcut he could think of to the library. It was a small place; Hanna didn't even have to go inside to see who was there, and there was no zombie. He thought a moment before he resumed his running, heading for the tiny bargain mart where they shopped. He said he'd be back with dinner, right?

"He shoulda taken the umbrella, jeez, what was he _thinking_?" Hana grumbled, worried.

He ignored the bemused looks he received as he jogged his skinny, dripping frame through the store, peeking down aisles, apprehension blooming steadily in his ribcage.

"Alatheus? Come on man, this isn't cool. Where are you?"

A clerk stopped him, trying not to look perturbed by all the water Hanna was leaving in his wake. "Can I help you find something, sir?"

"Tall guy," Hanna panted. "Green skin, orange shirt, glowy eyes?"

"Oh, the guy who always wears that stage makeup? I haven't seen him since last week. Didn't come in today."

Hanna went pale. He swallowed, thanked the man before walking outside again, mind whirring. He felt sick, had to steady himself against a wall as he thought. He didn't know where else the man could have gone. It was raining. Fuck, it was _raining_. Alatheus could _rot_. He'd be hiding under an awning somewhere, coat pulled tight around him, worried about rotting, worried about worrying Hanna. Hanna knew he would, and it made him beat his head into the wall, strung-out and frustrated. He glared at the umbrella in his hand.

"I should put a spell on this thing to follow him around whenever he goes out."

He sighed, turning to scan the stretch of road and buildings around him. He had to keep looking, he just wish he knew where. Too many streets in this city, for once. Hanna had used to think there weren't enough places to go.

"Don't worry Alatheus, I'm coming for you. Just hang in there. Fuck, I hope you're all right…I guess it's a good thing you forgot your umbrella, or I wouldn't know to look for you. Or something…"

Hanna shook his head at himself. This was gonna be a long, stressful night, he could feel it.

* * *

Ok. Yeah. I have some prompts I wasn't sure what to do with, haha. I'm putting the rating down since it's gonna be a while...and I figure M is overkill anyway; was just trying to play it safe. XD Will be updating again as soon as I figure out how to tie in the next prompt, which will hopefully be a longer chapter. Pfft!


	13. Don't Care

-Don't Care

The rain was only pouring harder when Hanna finally spotted a familiar orange glow. The night was black save the streetlamps and headlights, so they were, luckily, quite noticeable in front of the park's bathroom stalls. Hanna had taken his partner to that park in the summer; he'd have smiled at the memory of getting him onto the swings if he weren't so distracted by the frantic, jittery stress of the night.

The zombie was tucked into a tight ball against the men's room door. He held something close to his chest behind his knees, and his feet were curled inward to escape the sheet of rainwater that gushed from the protruding edge of the roof. His eyes were fixed dead ahead, as though in shock. Hanna's heartbeat quickened, relief flooding through his aching bones at the same time as fear for his friend's condition tightened his chest.

He knew his partner was terrified of rain. Not just because of the danger of rot, either. He just hated rain. Hanna had hypothesized to himself that the man was killed on a rainy night, so maybe that was why.

He ran up the hill, his breath nearly at an asthmatic wheeze by this point. "Ferrex!" he gasped, trying to wipe the drips from his glasses. "Fuck, I've been looking _everywhere_ for you…are you ok? Look, I brought you an umbrella. Let's get you home, huh?"

Ferrex didn't move. He stared up at Hanna with his eyes so full of emotions it was a wonder they didn't burst. The glow was so bright it hurt Hanna to look at them, but behind it all was an empty sort of lostness, a blank space where warmth used to be.

"H-hey…it's all right…everything's fine. I'm here, ok? I'm here to take you home. Don't worry…"

He lowered himself to his knees and reached out to touch his partner's shoulder, trying to provoke some sort of movement. Ferrex only continued to stare, a searching, pleading gaze that made Hanna nervous. He moved his hand to smooth over Ferrex's jaw.

"You…you recognize me, don't you?" he whispered, an unnamable terror bubbling in his gut.

The zombie's hand twitched at that. Lifted to join Hanna's, to keep it there, the empty space in his eyes filling with calm as they silently willed him not to move, not to break the contact. Then his free hand moved to grip the thing in his lap tighter. Hanna saw it was his old backpack.

"Hanna…" His voice was strained, hesitant.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm right here."

The zombie let both his hands fall to the backpack, slowly unzipping it. His orange eyes flicked down to its contents, not speaking, and Hanna's gaze followed suit. The redhead's heart sank into his shoes before jumping up to catch in his throat. The pack was full of unfolded origami paper, each sporting a line or two of hurried sharpie confessions.

"Shit…oh, shit, no, you didn't…you…I didn't think you'd actually…oh _shit_."

Hanna ran shaking hands through his sopping hair, eyes wide with disbelief. He'd forgotten about those cranes.

Why _now_, he thought; why now that things are going so well? When there's pastries at home and things are so fucking _good_?

"Hanna," Ferrex whispered again. "Is all of this true?"

Hanna ducked his head in a nod, shuddering, hands still gripping his hair. "I'm sorry," he babbled. "I didn't even wanna give those to you, but I figured you'd never open them…why would you? I never thought you'd read them, oh _god_, please don't hate me. I know I'm fucked up, I know, and I'm so sorry but please…please don't hate me, _please_…"

He ground his palms into his eyes and gritted his teeth. What now? Where could it possibly go from here? Hanna choked out a sob at the prospect of being alone again. But if that was really it, he'd at least make the zombie take the umbrella.

Ferrex didn't say anything to that. He raised his gloved hands to Hanna's wrists, pulling them away from his face and leaning in close.

"All of them?" he murmured. "Even crane number eighteen?"

Hanna's teary blue eyes snapped to his in surprise. Eighteen?

"Yes," he breathed. Fat tears dribbled down his cheeks, flushed with exertion and cold and mortification.

"Tell me," the zombie demanded softly.

"W-what?"

"Number eighteen. I want you to tell me." He released Hanna's wrists in favor of cupping his face. "I want to hear it."

"Why…? Aren't you-"

"_Tell me_," Ferrex begged, pressing his green forehead to Hanna's. "Please, Hanna."

The smaller man took a few shaky breaths, trying not to panic. No need for that. He'd said 'please', after all. He was asking. Didn't sound angry. Why wasn't he angry?

"I love you," Hanna said at last, surprised at the steadiness in his voice. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes. Like I'm gonna explode. I love you. I'm sorry."

He screwed his eyes shut tight, braced for rejection. They were friends, though, so Ferrex might let him down easily. But when the reaction came, it wasn't anywhere near what Hanna was expecting. Ferrex's hands took a gentle grip on his arms, sliding down to take hold of his wrists again. The bespectacled man sat in curious, confused silence as his hands were lifted to the zombie's lips, light kisses pressed to his knuckles.

"Why would you be sorry about that?"

Hanna blinked at him, caught between shock and dizziness. "Wha…it's…I'm a guy. And we're friends. Partners. And…we're_ guys_! Bros, man! I shouldn't be…you know?"

"I don't care about that." The zombie looked at him earnestly, eyebrows knitted.

"You don't?"

Ferrex shook his head as he ran his thumbs over Hanna's hands, pulling him closer. "I cant say I expected it, but I can say I'm glad you told me. Even if it was a bit indirect."

Hanna found himself caught in a close, secure embrace, the backpack of unfolded cranes pressed between them. He swallowed hard, tears still falling, trying to understand whether this was reality or just another cruel trick of his brain. He expected to be pushed away any second, to be left behind like always.

"Hey Ferrex. I'm getting you all wet."

"I don't care about that either."

Ferrex brushed his lips across Hanna's temple, nosing at his dripping red curls. Hanna giggled in a dull hysteria, attempting to dispel the surreal atmosphere.

"So what _do_ you care about?"

"You."

Hanna was pushed away then, but only to get a kiss to his forehead and his cheeks caught between leather covered fingers. The next kiss was a sweet, barely-there meeting of lips, followed by a few more little pecks. It turned Hanna's insides to goo. Ferrex opened his legs so Hanna could scoot closer, moving the backpack as well. When their torsos met, it sent shivers through Hanna's frame, and the light kisses sparked a needy ache in his chest. Before he realized it, his hands were gripping his partner's hair, mashing their lips together clumsily, the feeling in his chest bleeding out into his stomach. The zombie's hands were around his waist, amending the redhead's fumbling enthusiasm with patient, gentle prompting by his lips and tongue. As the kiss deepened, refined itself, Hanna groaned helplessly, needing to breathe but refusing to break contact. Their tongues clashed and his hips bucked, forcing him to take in air with a strange, strangled noise. Ferrex brought them back together by tugging at Hanna's bottom lip with his teeth. When they parted again, Hanna was panting and red-faced, his eyes glazed and glasses askew on his nose. He licked his lips, trying to think through the buzzing in his brain. An appreciative noise rumbled in his throat when Ferrex dipped his head to nuzzle and kiss at his neck.

"Was that worth waiting for?" the zombie murmured between kisses.

"Hunh…?" Hanna tipped his head back to feel more, too flustered and enraptured to comprehend words.

"Crane sixteen. You said you wanted to kiss me. Was it…worth waiting for?"

It took Hanna a moment to realize his partner was asking a serious question. He was unsure of himself, wondering if he could kiss worth a damn. Hanna wanted to laugh. He could kiss worth _two_ damns, and then some.

"Fuck yeah," Hanna breathed, tipping his partner's chin up to kiss him again. "Jeez, did you like, memorize those cranes or something?"

"Didn't take much," the zombie replied against his lips. "The shock factor really helped it sink in."

Hanna chuckled, rubbed their noses together. They kissed a while longer before the zombie stood, pulling Hanna up with a gentlemanly hand. He placed one more kiss on the smaller man's forehead before stooping down to pick up the backpack and umbrella.

"Take me home, Hanna. This rain is killing the mood."

Hanna laughed again and took his hand. The walk home was long, and the cold was finally registering in Hanna's mind now that he wasn't racing through town like a madman. He shivered against Ferrex's side the whole way, teeth chattering. Once they were inside, Hanna stripped himself of his sodden clothes in favor of a pair of ratty, dinosaur printed pajama bottoms and a striped thermal. His partner handed him a mug of tea when he emerged from the bathroom, still toweling off his hair, and Hanna had never been so happy in his life.

Hanna sniffled when Ferrex kissed him again, giggling with embarrassment as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"You've got a cold," the dead man said, looking guilty. "You shouldn't have gone out like that, I'd have been fine without you getting yourself sick."

Hanna smirked at him, took a hold of his tie to pull him down and whisper in his ear, though the effect was slightly marred by another sniffle.

"I don't care about that."

* * *

This.

I'm not enthused, but if I tweak it any more I'll just ruin it, you know? XD

Hope it was ok. "Don't Care" is a dumb prompt for romance, seriously. Late-night improv FTW. Oh, did the rain in previous chapters come in handy...pfft!


	14. Cockblock

-Cockblock

Hanna had known things wouldn't fall directly into place, even after it was all out in the open. He knew it wasn't going to be like the movies. They wouldn't confess their feelings and fall into bed, screaming their love for each other in a sweat-drenched frenzy of reckless passion. He'd known that things need time to build up, that the timing ought to be right.

He _knew_ all of that, but damn it to hell, he'd waited so long already, and all the kissing isn't helping his patience one bit.

It would have happened, he thought, if their last client hadn't rapped on the door just as his partner was easing him down to the mattress, kissing him hard and insistent. That kiss promised something, something Hanna wanted more than anything, but it would have to wait. There was someone screaming for him outside, and shit, he just couldn't ignore them.

So he'd let the man inside, sopping wet and shaking, listened to him babble about a ghost following him and moaning his name, as well as recurring nightmares about his girlfriend dying only to wake up to the sound of screaming and severe visual distortions. Hanna's irritation and arousal dissipated in the face of pure fascination.

As it turned out, the man's girlfriend was indeed dying. She'd gone to visit her mother at a rest home the next town over, and afterward, had been kidnapped for witnessing a murder in a drugstore nearby. She was beaten savagely for attempting to escape. After two days, she fell unconscious from the constant abuse and lack of nourishment. The ghost Hanna's client had seen was hers, separated from the now comatose body in search of help.

It took another day for Hanna to inspect the man's home and coax the spirit out. She resisted him, seeing him as an outsider, untrustworthy. Patient minutes later, the man came forward to ask questions, catching her attention immediately. She became more cooperative, trying desperately to communicate though she was weak and stretched so thin across the distance from her body. Hanna was able to help her materialize better through runes, prying this story from her, resulting in the man darting for the door with the police already on his cell phone.

Hours later found Hanna and his sidekick in the hospital, waiting to see if the woman would be all right, exhausted from dealing with police officers and overly-curious doctors.

"The Japanese call that sort of thing an _ikiryo_," he was telling his partner. "It's a pretty basic spirit projection, only nobody's dead. Usually it's angry spirits though, yanno, people who get pissed off enough at someone to want to hurt them, but won't do it for some reason or other. The hate in their soul kinda separates and does it for them."

"And this one?" the zombie had prompted after a thoughtful hum.

"Well, this one happened 'cause she was gonna die. There's been a lot of cases where people get visited by the spirits of family or friends who are like, in the hospital or something. People in comas can project themselves if they have enough urgency."

The zombie blinked, was silent for a moment. "That's…oddly romantic, isn't it?"

Hanna had looked up at him with a soft smile, and the zombie placed a protective, affectionate hand over his. They'd been sent home in a taxi ordered by the man once the doctor declared his girlfriend in stable condition. They'd also been paid quite a generous amount, which Hanna had wanted to argue, but the man would have none of it. Hanna didn't want to press the issue anyhow. Not with the nearly tangible relief emanating from his client, from the sheer sincerity in his thanks and the way he held the woman's hand so tenderly and kissed her bruised forehead. Hanna was choked up by the sight of it, humbled by the display of love and harried by the images of himself ever in that man's position.

All in all, it was well worth the bags under his eyes the next morning, if not the lost evening in bed with his partner. Hanna looked back on it now, not at all regretful, but still wondering "what if". What if that man hadn't come to them? How far would they have gone? Hanna didn't want to focus so hard on sex, not when the past week had been so full of affection and sweet words and more kisses than he'd ever thought he'd get in a lifetime. He knew he just had to be patient, that sex wasn't the important part.

Knowing is half the battle, he thought, and the other half is boners out of nowhere and feeling like I'm burning alive, fuck you very much, G.I. Joe.

He felt guilty now, in the bathroom once again. His partner was out buying groceries, leaving Hanna to a rather difficult rune he'd been working on for a few days. He became frustrated with it quickly, as usual, and his mind had wandered, as usual…then his hand wandered and there was nothing left but fire and tightness and _need_. His partner flashed through his mind in a slideshow of smiles and breakfasts and cases, days at the park or kissing on the couch and things that hadn't happened yet. Green skin and stitches, all laid bare on Hanna's mattress, glowing orange eyes half-lidded with a sultry smirk. Long, emaciated fingers pulling at Hanna's clothes, his hair, his arms and hips. The expanse of dead skin covered in runes Hanna had feverishly memorized, giving the man a false pulse, breath, heartbeat, sweat, arousal. Hanna palmed himself roughly through his jeans, forehead colliding with the table as he groaned with equal parts exasperation and pleasure. He didn't know how long his partner would be gone. He didn't know how long it had already been. He just knew he had to take care of this fast, before he got home.

Once he'd made it shakily to the bathroom, there was no pretense as he unzipped his fly. No warm-up, no toying. He gave it to himself hard and fast from the start. While one hand was flying over his erection, the other was tugging and rubbing his sac, fingers ghosting over his anus as he ground his palm into his balls. It hurt, but for some reason that only made it better. He kept his fist tight around the shaft and let his voice go wherever it wanted, from incoherent, high-pitched groaning to breathless names he pulled out of nowhere for his partner.

"Shit…yeah, c'mon…" he panted, nearing the end. He spotted one of the zombie's orange button-ups in the laundry hamper through hazy eyes, released a tight squeeze on his balls to reach for it.

The shirt smelled like dust and rain and it was singed in a few places, flecked with mud in others. He remembered that case; fire demon got summoned in some dumb kid's fireplace. The zombie had smashed the cinders out of it when it attacked Hanna. Just slammed his fist into it, burnt up his sleeve, didn't even wince. Hanna's cock throbbed at the memory, every inch of him tightening up and his toes straining against the linoleum floor as he bit his lip and keened. His head hit the wall and a guttural cry was forced from his throat as he came.

When the white world and clouds dissipated, leaving him winded and sweaty, his entire body flushed scarlet under his now unbearable clothes, he collapsed onto the floor for a bit and stared at the flickering light near the ceiling. He wiggled out of his shirt and pants, dazedly listening for any noise in the apartment. He didn't hear anything; it let him venture tentatively back into his room, darting back into the bathroom with fresh clothes in hand.

A moment later, he turned his gaze to the shirt on the ground, face paling when he realized the rather impressive stains of translucent white pooled along the hem. Torn between panic and _shit, why is it really hot that I came on his shirt?_ he dove for it and shoved it into the sink, begging the ancient pipes to spare him a little hot water, just as he heard familiar rustling and the jingle of keys outside the door.

* * *

Sorry it's taking a while to get this fic updated. Aaaand, to get to the wham-bam, if that's what anyone's waiting for. XD My boss decided to enlist me as lineartist for some crazy mural thing on the wall in the bar. Caricatures of regulars. Lordy, lordy, I did NOT think it would be this difficult and time consuming.

BUT, hey, this prompt. It made me giggle a little, and I think they gave it to me on purpose to throw off the aforementioned wham-bamming. All in all, I kind of appreciate it. 'Cause it's nice to interject a little bit of realism (as much as you can get with paranormal shit and zombie lovers, pfft) into a relationship. And. Well. Hanna beating off is one of my favorite things in the world. Mmm-hmmm.


	15. INTERLUDE

Ok, so I might not be able to update for a bit, so uh. Here's six of ten ficlets I was supposed to write to shuffled iTunes. You know, when you write them during the song and have to end at the end of it? Let me tell you, it is HARD. I got so flustered and upset with it, cause we're not allowed to go back and fix stuff. I kinda got interrupted after the sixth one and never felt inclined to get back to it. XD

But yeah, maybe this'll tide y'all over until I get life straightened out enough to finish more chapters. You guys have been awesome with support, by the way, thank you so much! I really appreciate all the nice things that have been said. 3

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1) High - The Cure

"Hey Terrence! Come on, the swings are empty!"

I hurried after Hanna, a smile tugging at my lips. Hanna had done nothing but run and roll around and laugh since we'd gotten to the park. I had watched it all, my chest strangely tight and warm all at once.

I found myself pushing Hanna on the swings a moment later, smiling fully now at Hanna's delighted gasps and laughter. It was like his whole life had just melted away, leaving nothing behind but the freest sort of exuberance I'd ever seen.

"Higher, man! I wanna touch the sky!"

I thought to myself that if anyone could touch the sky, it would be Hanna. Seeing him here, like this, it tore me apart to realize I almost lost him a week ago. It made me want to hold him close. The feeling of pushing at his back twisted itself into a slightly unpleasant sensation, but I continued to do so; it made Hanna happy.

On the way home, he didn't pull his hand away when I reached for it. He just smiled.

2) Ashes to Ashes - David Bowie

Hanna had a toy rocket from his toddler days in his closet. There was a little man painted in the windshield, and he'd been named Major Tom.

I didn't remember it often, but every time he wore his rocketship boxers I thought of it, of the day he'd shown it to me. I was holding them now, about to toss them in the wash with the rest. He watched me finish the laundry, his eyes far away and tired. Long night, no cases, bad weather. He was too discouraged by the rough shift at Target to even be restless. He didn't even ask what I was doing when I went to rummage in the closet.

"Hanna," I said at length, kneeling beside him on the couch. He turned his face to me, managing a weary smile as I said, "I heard a rumor from ground control."

At first, when Hanna's eyes fell on the toy rocket, there was only a confused sort of shock. Then, gradually, a thousand-watt smile lit up his face as he laughed.

"Oh no, don't say it's true!"

3) Silent Legacy - Melissa Etheridge

Hanna stared up at the buildings around him, remembering.

The days he'd lived on these streets, learning and failing and scuffing his knees, they seemed so far away. He'd never thought he'd have that kind of life when he was a kid. He never knew growing up would be like that, never thought it could be so bad. The nights had been sleepless, stifled, and during the day he'd been trampled and run-down. He'd stare up at the stars each night, wishing his mother was still there to keep him strong. He'd wish he had wings to scale those ugly old buildings, escape the city.

He didn't have those wings or his mother, even now. But he did have the arm of a quiet, patient zombie around his shoulders, smooth green lips on his temple. He decided that the fluttering in his heart was better than any wings.

4) Rainmaker - Matchbox 20

I wanted to be in charge of the weather. I'd make it sunny all the time so Reggie and I could go out and do stuff whenever we wanted. Without the rain, we could do anything together, any time! We could solve cases like pros, too, without having to worry about his skin, and we could be like heroes or something.

I get to thinking things would be different if I could do things like that, though. Maybe even different enough to ruin it. Maybe it wouldn't be worth it to have crazy powers like that. I don't really need to be in charge of anything. What if I forgot and never brought the rain back? That would be terrible, huh? I pressed my nose to the window, sighing. No, we didn't need to change a thing. It was good. What we had was good.

I still wished it wasn't raining, but when I felt Reggie's hands slide around my waist and his chin rest on my head, it stopped mattering so much.

5) Ashita, Genki Ni Naare - Miyavi

Hanna spent more of his time on cases than at Target now, grinning over the surge of business thanks to all the advertising by past customers. The zombie trailed after him, enjoying the time together, writing logs for their website. He'd read them aloud to Hanna sometimes, who laughed and told him he was an amazing writer, and why not try writing a book because it would be totally awesome?

Today, Hanna had been on a case alone, and came back to pick up a reference book. The green-skinned man felt slightly useless.

"Don't go too far, Hanna," the zombie told him, remembering the last case Hanna had gone alone; he'd gotten stranded the next town over, lost, and the dead man had nearly succumbed to panic attacks.

Hanna looked at him curiously, then smiled. He held out his hand and jerked his head towards the door.

"Why don't we just go together?"

6) The Freshman - Verve Pipe

"I was kinda cocky when I was just starting out," Hanna said. "I thought I could take on any case and barely even researched stuff before I jumped in. At least I read up on things first now…"

"I still wish you'd be more careful."

"Aw, c'mon Jared, it's just a sprained wrist!"

"That's not the point." The zombie handed him an ice pack from the freezer. "The point is that you thought you knew what you were doing, but you didn't."

Hanna rolled his eyes, but there was a shadow behind them. "Story of my life," he sighed.

There was a moment where Hanna sat remembering tears and guilt and a young girl bleeding on the asphalt. That moment was observed closely by the zombie, remembering his own frustration and guilt and a red-head coughing up blood on carpet.

"I wonder what it is that makes us so sure of ourselves."

Hanna stared knowingly at the zombie for a moment, mouth twitching to a wry smile. "I think a lot of it has to do with love."


	16. Snoop

-Snoop

There were no groceries to be bought. Nothing needed replacing or fixing. No one needed them for anything in particular, and the sky was still unpredictable, as it always was in wintertime. Hanna didn't have to be at work until evening, had no cases lined up and nothing to do but study runes.

So where the heck was Donatello going, and why couldn't Hanna come along?

"I have something to do on my own today. You should stay here and have some rest before work."

"C'mon man, that's not fair! Why can't I go with you? It's gonna be so boring here by myself!"

Donatello smiled indulgently at him before surprising him with a deep, thorough kiss. "It won't take too long. I'll be back before you leave."

He stole one more kiss, flicking Hanna's upper lip with his tongue as he drew back. Then he was out the door, leaving Hanna staring dazedly after him.

It only took a few seconds of deliberating before Hanna followed, determined to know what his partner was up to that needed to be kept a secret. He was crap at stealth, and he knew it, but it wasn't going to stop him from trying his best. And the guilt wasn't going to overpower his curiosity either.

Donatello's stride was focused and brisk when he walked alone. Hanna had to dart along quicker than he'd thought to keep up with him. He kept his eyes on the zombie's broad shoulders, thinking to himself how he _really_ liked that blue scarf and he wished they were walking together because they'd share it sometimes, and it would get tangled because of the height difference, but he didn't care because it felt so amazing, and _why_ didn't he want Hanna to come along today?

There was a moment of panic settling heavy and thick in his stomach, but he chased it away. Donatello wouldn't be doing anything dangerous. Wouldn't be getting involved with anything shady. Wouldn't be _seeing_ someone else…Not a chance.

The zombie was making his way through downtown now, purposeful steps sure and almost eager as he threaded through the few crowds of loitering teenagers and elderly antique-hoppers. He kept going, past the shops and into the residential area. All the houses were small and victorian style here. Many of them were actually home businesses, like fortune tellers and bed-and-breakfasts. Hanna recognized one of the fortune-teller signs and briefly thought of popping in to say hello. But no, not now, he was on a mission. It was at one of these little businesses that the zombie stopped, gliding up the steps with a tiny smile. It was a teahouse. The paint was a nice sage green, and there were wicker tables out front with tea sets and flower vases on them. Hanna couldn't follow him inside, it would be too close-quarters. He scampered up to the window and heaved a sigh of relief. He could see his partner headed for the back door. Outside patio. Hanna could hide in the bushes easily enough.

The backyard was spacious and green and littered with wicker tables. Each table had a different style and color of tea set and umbrella. There were a few old ladies seated at a distinctly french styled table, chattering happily. They were far enough that Hanna didn't worry about being noticed. Closer to him, a man with greying hair and round spectacles was seated with a filigreed silver tea set before him. He was smiling at Donatello's approaching figure.

"Harbin," Don said warmly, taking the chair opposite him. "Good afternoon."

"Glad you could make it, Marko. Missed you last week."

Marko nodded, an apologetic tilt in his brow. "Hanna and I were on a case. I'm sorry I wasn't able to contact you."

The man called Harbin waved a hand, shaking his head. "No, no sorries, it's perfectly all right. I know you two have it a little tough." He smiled again, the wrinkles around his eyes splintering like tree roots. He sipped at his tea slowly, savoring it.

"Things aren't so bad anymore. We've been getting more cases lately. Food, at least, is no longer a concern."

"That's good to hear. How is this Hanna of yours, anyway? I always wonder if you'll bring him by so I can meet him."

The zombie tilted his head. "I thought about it…I just don't know if…" he trailed off, staring at the empty teacup in front of him.

"You think he'll be upset he's not the only one with your secret or something?"

Marko blinked at him, brows knitting. "I don't think he would be. I don't really know why I haven't. Something just felt strange about it."

Harbin set down his teacup, resting his arms on the table. He gave the zombie a level stare. "Marko, you seem like the type of guy to be worried about doing things on his own. You been dead for a long time, things are strange. Now, I'm the first person you've had regular contact with since you met Hanna, and the first person you talked to at length without him. You have a pretty comfortable friendship with me. Probably the _only_ comfortable thing outside Hanna's sphere of influence. It'd feel awkward letting those two worlds collide, right? The one you know and trust and built with someone, then the newer, occasional thing you built by yourself. You're worried they might get messed up if you mix them, like playdough."

The zombie stared back at him with a sort of awe. In the bushes, Hanna was doing the same; he wondered who this man was, how they met, and decided that whatever the answers were, he liked him.

"I think you may have me figured out," Marko replied, setting his chin on his hands. "I don't want to change things…"

"I don't wanna change things for you, Marko. I just wanna meet the guy who could steal a dead man's heart."

Hanna thought that if Marko had any blood, he'd be blushing right now, judging by the look on his face. Hanna felt a little red himself.

"Harbin…I haven't said anything about-"

"Nah, son, you can't hide something like that," the old man interrupted. "I can practically see the pink lace in your eyes every time you say his name. The way you talk about him, I'd have to be some sort of idiot not to guess it."

"I didn't realize I'd been so obvious."

"Most people don't. Then again, I can see things better than other people can. So does he know?" He picked up his tea again, quirking a bushy brow over the rim.

"He knows. In fact…he confessed to me first. Technically. He…well, I doubt he'd want me to reiterate that story, but it was unexpected and unintentional to say the least."

Harbin laughed. "Well that's good news, aside from the apparently shaky reveal. I'm happy for you."

"I'm happy too." Marko smiled, eyes soft and tracing the curve of the teapot. "Falling in love wasn't something I'd expected to do with my second chance."

As Harbin chuckled, Hanna felt his chest expanding and tears pricking at his eyes. He'd never felt so good in his whole life. His partner was having tea with a neat old man, telling him that he was happy, that he loved Hanna. _He loved Hanna_. You never know for sure what someone feels for you, but when you hear them tell someone else, it feels like certainty, and it feels good. And Hanna had to dig his fingers into the dirt to keep from leaping out of the bushes to show the zombie just how good he was feeling.

"So I guess I get to meet him now, then?" Harbin was saying.

"I'll bring him next time. Now that the subject's been breached, I don't feel so apprehensive. I think you'll like each other."

"I think so too. But I don't think we have to wait until next time to find out, right Hanna?"

Bespectacled eyes turned toward Hanna's hiding place, and Hanna froze, his good feeling fading out into alarm. He saw the zombie's eyes follow curiously.

_What the hell do I do now?_

"Come on Hanna, you're hardly sneaky. Then again, if I was a normal guy, you might have gotten away with it."

This piqued Hanna's curiosity at the same time as it churned his stomach with mortification at getting caught. Would Marko be angry? Or would he be forgiving, since he probably should have expected this from Hanna in the first place? Either way, it was foolish to keep hiding. He rose slowly, pushing his way out of the bush, cheeks rosy with shame as he looked pointedly at his checkered shoes.

"Hanna? What are you doing here?"

Sounds more like surprise than angry, Hanna thought. This might be ok.

"Uh. Hey, M-marko…I uh…" he rubbed the back of his neck, daring to let their eyes meet as he offered an apologetic smile. "I was just curious, you know? You never took of without me during the day before…"

Silently, and with a kind expression, Harbin rose from his seat and extended a hand to Hanna. The younger man took it after a slight hesitation.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, you little scamp," he said with a laugh. "Name's Harbin. Harbin Douglas. And you are _exactly_ the way Marko described you!"

Hanna sounded a nervous chuckle, but politely kept eye contact. He did like the guy, it was just the situation he was uncomfortable with. "How is that?" he asked.

"Oh, how did he put it?" Harbin mused aloud. The zombie shuffled nervously behind him, looking as flustered as one could get without blood. "'Kind of small, very thin' he said. And 'his hair's bright red, I can spot it a mile away.' The one I remember best is what he said about your eyes though. 'He wears glasses' he said, 'and he has the most amazing blue eyes I've ever seen. It's like looking into an electrical storm without any clouds.'"

Harbin finished with a teasing smirk toward the zombie, who was staring quite interestedly at the napkins on the table with a hand running through his hair. His eyes flicked over to Hanna with an embarrassed smile.

Hanna's cheeks flushed as he smiled back, rubbing his arm. "C'mon man, did you really say that? How come you use all the best lines with other people instead of me?"

Marko cast him a surprised glance that melted to a coy grin. "I wasn't aware you'd appreciate the sentimentality…"

"I don't mind sweet-talk, if that's what you're saying." Hanna replied with a smirk.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'd better," Harbin cut in with a wink. "Sweet nothings are a whole lotta something if you wanna keep your boy happy."

"That and pancakes!"

"He makes you breakfast? Why _Marko_, such a gentleman!"

"It's…it's nothing, really…"

"It's awesome." Hanna's tone allowed for no argument in the matter. "It's the best thing ever. And hey, I just remembered, Harbin? You said something about you not being a normal guy, what's up with that?"

The old man smiled at him, motioned for him to have a seat as he did so. "Right, right. Forgot. Well, you see, I'm what they call an 'empath'. I can feel other people's feelings, especially if they're strong. And you, Hanna, have got some pretty overpowering emotions. You may as well have screamed, I could sense you so well."

Hanna's eyes went wide, sorting through a mixture of awe and discomfort. He'd never met an empath before.

"So cool…and kind of scary. But cool…man, I wish I could do that sometimes. Oh, wait, so how did you two meet anyways?"

"Remember the lost dog I told you about when we rescued the dragon?" Marko said. "It was his."

"Oh, wow! So you kept in touch?"

"More like I tracked him down," Harbin laughed. "For some reason, I just couldn't let this guy walk away without talking to him. After that, he came to me, and we've been talking over tea ever since. The wife owns this place, see."

The three of them talked for hours, apparently much longer than any of them planned, but no one was complaining. Hanna made a mental note to definitely spy on Marko again if he went off to do something secret. And Harbin caught wind of that mischievous feeling, tossed him a discreet wink.

Yeah, Hanna liked this guy. Marko may not have a lot of friends, but when he finds them, they're keepers.

Hanna had a hard time concentrating at work that night. His life was suddenly so awesome he could barely contain his energy; business was going well, there was food in the house, all the bills were paid, Harbin had invited him and Marko to his granddaughter's birthday party next week, and Marko loved him. Even better, before he'd left for work, Marko had kissed him long and slow as he thanked him for the afternoon with Harbin.

"But I hope you're not too tired after work," he'd said then, his tongue teasing Hanna's ear. "There's still the matter of your punishment for snooping after me like that."

Hanna never hated Target more than he did that night.

* * *

Whoo. This one took a while. Mostly because I wanted to go somewhere with this, but um. I lost track halfway through since life kept interrupting, so I had to change it up all over the place. It took forever to write this chapter, seriously. It's part of the reason I started "Dead"; total writeblock. BUT! I'm back to writing it, and it's coming easier now, so let's hope that means more updates in less time. XD

I hope it's ok, I think the latter part is still a little shaky, but MOVING ON. Haha. And thanks for the support, guys, I'm surprised I haven't had a single bad review. Stop making me feel invincible, it's not good for my ego.


	17. Surprise Pt 1

-Surprise Pt 1

Hanna wasn't tired after work. He was wired up and excited, in more ways than one. He'd had plenty of fantasies about what his "punishment" would be, but he was certain the ropes and paddles wouldn't be there. The images were though, sparking up that old heat and guilt, like always. He felt nervous, skin writhing with anticipation. He was also embarrassed to find himself half-hard before he even reached the door to his apartment. What was he, a hormone-ridden, pockmarked teenager, scandalously meeting up with his boyfriend while their parents were away for the weekend?

"I missed out on all that shit," he pouted to himself. "Just making up for it now, that's cool."

When he got home, the lights were all out inside. His brow furrowed as he frowned at the window.

"Cuchulain?" he called tentatively as he pushed the door open. "Why's it so dark in here, man? Are you even home?"

Hanna stepped inside and closed the door, fumbling for the light switch. He only saw a split-second flash of orange before he felt hands covering his mouth and eyes, stifling his startled shout. His heart beat against his ribcage furiously, breath quickening through his nose. The hand over his eyes pulled him back against a hard chest as the one over his mouth moved to loop around his middle, allowing him a confused gasp.

"Welcome home, Hanna."

Cuchulain's voice against his ear was low and smooth, sending shivers through Hanna's body. The hand around his waist moved again, gliding over his stomach and under his shirt.

"Uh, hey, wait a minute, is this...what are...o-oh, _shit_..."

"What's wrong, Hanna? Aren't you ready for your punishment?"

He punctuated the question with lips to Hanna's neck, then teeth and tongue, sucking until he was sure to be bruised. Hanna could only moan and wriggle in his grasp, trying to keep his hips from bucking into nothing while the hand under his shirt strayed over his scar tissue.

"Eblis...oh god, that's...please, I'm totally ready, _please_, keep going..."

"It's not much of a punishment if you're so eager for it," Eblis whispered, then stopped his affections to Hanna's chest and neck.

The detective was about to object before he felt himself hoisted over the tall corpse's shoulder, slung like a flailing rucksack. He couldn't repress his excited giggle as he felt the blood in his body rushing confusedly from his face to his groin, relishing in the tingles and the strong hands supporting him. He realized all of a sudden that his companion wasn't wearing gloves. He'd never seen the man without gloves, and it excited him even more.

"Guess I'm a masochist," Hanna mumbled into his back. "Or you just suck at discipline."

Eblis bent slightly and tossed Hanna onto his mattress, pinning him there with a low chuckle. "You know," he murmured. "If I _really_ wanted to punish you, I'd just leave you here. How's that for discipline?"

Hanna whined, grabbing at Eblis' collar. That was most certainly the best idea for a punishment, but otherwise, it was the worst idea ever. "Please, please no, c'mon, you don't wanna do that, right?"

"Oh? Who says I don't? I'm supposed to be teaching you a lesson."

"You want me," Hanna breathed, craning his neck up to press tentative, almost uncertain kisses to the zombie's jaw. "Don't you?"

Eblis intercepted a few of those kisses with his own lips, another rumble of laughter escaping his throat. "I do want you, Hanna. The problem here is that _you_ want _me_."

"That's a problem?" Hanna smirked at him, his head falling back into the pillow, barely acknowledging the swell of relief in his chest.

The zombie leaned in close to attack his neck once more, pulling squeals and laughter from him. "You're so spoiled."

"You love me."

"Yes, I do."

Eblis chose that moment bring their lips together, kissing Hanna like it was their last night on earth. There was a long period of simplistic and nearly animal fervency in them; nothing but lips and tongues and bites, bodies grinding against one another until Hanna was nearly in tears over the sensations. They'd kissed and cuddled before, sometimes so tight and close they may as well have been sharing skin, but never like this. Never such carnal desperation. The zombie was holding him down and _ravishing_ him. Hanna would never have believed he could be wanted as much as he wanted someone else, but it was hard to retain that low self-esteem when there was harsh suction on his lower lip and insistent hands shoving his tee up to his collarbones.

Green lips moved back to his neck, for a moment, then to his chest. Eblis left a tingling trail of bruises and lovebites all over Hanna's torso, careful to avoid sucking too hard around the scars and staples. The redhead didn't even have time to feel self-conscious about them. Hanna yelped and hissed as teeth clamped over one of his nipples, tugging gently. His knees were drawn up and his toes curled as he buried his hands into fine, black hair.

"God fucking dammit that's..._shit_, do that some more, it's so fucking _good_..." Hanna babbled. His fingers shook as the teeth closed on his flesh once more, tongue flicking at the captured skin between them.

The redhead barely noticed when his pants were undone and pushed down. The tug at his boxers registered quickly though, and he couldn't stop his hips from jerking upwards in excitement. The zombie didn't remove them, however; he just left more nips and kisses on pale, twitching skin.

"What do you want me to do, Hanna?" came the deep whisper.

"Just touch me..."

Stitched fingers teased their way over his hips, following the waistline of his boxers. "I am touching you."

"No! No, I mean take them off, take everything _off_ and _touch_ me."

"Where do you want me to touch you, hm?"

"My...oh god, jeez, don't make me _say_ it, c'mon!"

Hanna felt his cheeks blazing red with embarrassment. He knew the zombie was getting some kind of sick pleasure out of teasing him. For some reason, that turned him on more than it upset him.

Eblis hmmed into Hanna's shoulder, nuzzling his overheated flesh. "All right how about this?"

"Ah, aaah_ah_! Yeah! _Yeah_, that's aaaahh_god..._"

Hanna nearly convulsed when Eblis' palm ground gently into his crotch through the boxers, rubbing the fabric over the swollen organ encased in them. Sirens blared in his ears, and he imagined the blood in his face boiling hot enough to rupture. No one had touched him there before, ever. It was only his own hand, some unlucky object or ratty pillow. Panting under another person's hand - letting someone else be in control of his pleasure - both frightened and excited him past what he could handle.

His incoherency and blazing skin seemed to alarm the zombie. His stroking became gentler, which had a surprisingly unhelpful effect. The feather-light contact sparked even more feeling, almost-painful jolts and shots to his brain like shots of strong alcohol, making his lips numb.

"S'ok," he mumbled, voice shaking and at least an octave lower. "Do it harder, it feels good."

Instead of complying, the zombie made a thoughtful noise and took his hand away after a wonderfully tight squeeze. Hanna's protests were smothered by kisses. He promptly forgot what he was whining about when their tongues met, leaving him wondering at the bizarre texture of the zombie's mouth this time around. It wasn't wet or dry; something like the feel of leather, and Hanna let his tongue stray over every inch of it.

"We should get your clothes off," the zombie mused, his lips glistening with Hanna's saliva. "You're all red."

It took quite a bit of fumbling and unexpected tickling to accomplish the task, each article removed without hurry. Once Hanna was free of his sweaty clothes, however, a belated wave of self-consciousness rocked his bowels. He swallowed back a lump in his throat and tried to focus on his heartbeat.

"Hanna?"

Eblis was trailing more cool kisses down his jaw and throat. He must have noticed Hanna's discomfort. Sometimes, and only _sometimes_, Hanna wished he wasn't quite so perceptive. Or that he himself were less...transparent.

"'M all right," he breathed, reaching up to stroke the white wings at the zombie's temples. "Just never been naked in front of someone else."

Eblis replied with a contemplative gaze, head cocked to the side as though trying to understand something. Hanna felt a bead of sweat roll from his forehead down into his ear. He felt a sudden urge to wrap himself up, hide all the skin and bones and scars he never realized he was so insecure about.

"You know, I'm glad to hear that. I don't want anyone else to see you this way. Only me."

Hanna's eyes went wide and his heart sped up, as though trying to jump out of his chest to attach to the zombie leaning in for more kisses. Green, stitched hands teased their way over his quivering stomach down to bony hips, thumbs brushing over the coarse red hair at the junction of his legs. Hanna's breath hitched sharply; the zombie had synchronized biting his lip and wrapping long, eager fingers around his shaft. Eblis moved his wrist in a slow rotation, easily adapting to the erratic bucking that followed.

"Only me, Hanna," he whispered, moving his hand faster. "For as long as I can be with you, please, let me be the only one."

The paranormal investigator was torn between his eyes rolling back and the lump in his throat. Eblis was kissing him again, his neck and shoulders, around the scars again, and every point of contact burned perfectly. Hanna felt a tear slide down his face despite his best efforts. There was a beautiful, warm feeling inside him, and it made him want to cry, regardless the hand on his cock and the lips tormenting his skin. His own lips quivered, and he scrunched up his face to keep the rest of the tears at bay.

"I promise Philo, it's only_ ever_ gonna be you."

His voice didn't shake as much as he'd expected. Philo responded with a smile, his eyes shining with gratefulness and affection and so many things Hanna couldn't understand anymore, not with the hand on his cock picking up speed and twisting so wickedly. He bit his lip to keep quiet, but small groans and whimpers always managed to leak their way out.

"Stop holding back," the zombie murmured. He seemed to double the efforts of his hand, pumping in earnest now. "I want to hear you, Hanna. I need to hear what you're feeling."

Willing and eager to give the zombie anything he asked for, Hanna told him. Hanna panted every word he could think of, every positive affirmation he knew to let the zombie know that he was feeling nothing short of incredible. Most of it came out unintelligible and maybe not even English, but the meaning was clear in his raw voice and the spasming in his body. Finally, with a sound he immediately felt embarrassed for, Hanna climaxed into Philo's hand, convulsing and sweaty and disoriented. He couldn't think past the haze, electric where his previous orgasms had been white cotton. His eyes refused to focus through his skewed glasses. His few coherent thoughts consisted of _"god I feel good"_ and _"god I hope I'm not drooling"_. Philo's clean hand was warm and moist from holding him; he felt it now smoothing sweaty tendrils of hair away from his face, trailing along his cheeks and jaw, holding him still for kisses he was only half-aware of.

"Hanna?"

The zombie's voice was concerned. Hanna managed to focus his gaze on the man hovering over him and offered him a content, lazy smile. He wanted to tell him how good he was feeling, but words didn't come. His tongue felt like pudding.

"Are you all right?"

"Good," the redhead slurred, forcing himself to function. "So fuckin'good, man."

Philo grinned down at him, obviously pleased with the result of his performance. Hanna watched him as he leaned over to grab a stray shirt, wiping away the mess on his hand with it. He tossed it over his shoulder towards the bathroom and Hanna gave him a apologetic - but completely unremorseful - glance before his brain suddenly clicked open a need to reciprocate.

Hanna reached out for the zombie, his arms still trembling from post-orgasmic weakness. He grabbed the tie, loosening it, popping open the first few buttons on the way.

Philo watched him, stiffening. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think? It's your turn, now."

The zombie's brows arched in confusion, eyes trying hard to smother a sadness that appeared. "My turn?" Philo stopped him, taking his wrists gently. "Hanna, you know that won't work."

"Trust me."

"There's no point, I can't-" Hanna stopped him with a hand to his mouth.

"What were you planning to do, just get me off and stay frustrated all your life?" he murmured low, eyes pleading for trust.

The undead man sighed, looking a somewhat lost. "What else _can_ I do? I don't have any blood, Hanna."

The redhead pushed at his chest, maneuvering until they'd switched positions. Straddling the zombie, he reached over to his tiny nightstand and took up a sharpie.

"You can lie down and let me handle it."

Philo's eyebrows raised incredulously, but he continued to lie still and quiet beneath Hanna. He eyed the marker and the look of determination on his partner's face, mildly wary. Hanna brought the marker to his skin and began to draw.

* * *

HEY, whaddya know, I'm actually updating. WHAT?

And yeah, I ended it there, and yeah, the next chapter might piss you off just as bad, and YEAH, it's kind of a teeny plot that will last maybe all of two chapters and it'll be angsty and shmaltzy and it'll end in fluff of the highest caliber. Probably. If I even remember what I'm up to and don't deviate because of prompts. XD

I really am sorry though, in all seriousness, for the crazy long wait for updates. As is the excuse for 99.9% of update issues, it's LIFE getting in the way and being a douchewhacker. Sorry again!


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